


first move, first blood

by TolkienGirl



Series: Fixing on the Hour - Vignettes [2]
Category: Fixing on the Hour - TolkienGirl, Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Chess Metaphors, Fixing on the Hour Universe, Gen, this is basically a very abstract study of the Darcy-Gemma divide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-05 19:50:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11020368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TolkienGirl/pseuds/TolkienGirl
Summary: This is what a game of chess looks like from the inside.





	first move, first blood

Open arms. The first sign of power is that she is greeted with open arms.

Only, it feels like love then. But she likes it so well she decides it’s worth using.

 

“Dear, your mother and I have been good friends. You’ll be comfortable here. And this is Dorothy…I know _you'll_ be friends."

 

(This is what a game of chess looks like from the inside.)

The white queen makes the first move. There are no set rules for who makes the last. She who claims the title of white queen smiles with whiter teeth. She learns how to dance. How to demonize. (It’s all in the posture, the _lie_ and the _plié_ ).

 

The black queen doesn’t deserve her crown of villainy, but she wears it with dignity.

Enough to make anyone hate her, isn’t it? Dignity unsmiling looks so very much like pride. And pride, after all, is a much easier name than pain.

So yes, she has plenty of pride. Pride must be what keeps her head up in the wake of tragedy, pride it must be because she is rich, because she is quiet, because she does not mix her love with her power.

 

“I thought your mother told you not to be jealous,” Gemma snaps. She hates Darcy when she’s drunk. She’s a mean drunk.

Darcy is so much younger in the moonlight, helping her to her unsteady feet. “My mother is dead,” she says, and she doesn’t sound jealous, as much as Gemma wishes she did.

 

 Queens never worry about a few pawns.

Sometimes, though, they skirt close enough to kill them.

 

(This is what a game of chess looks like with blood in the water.)

 

The black queen has a weak spot. It looks very like a heart.

It looks very like her brother.

 

“You remember me, right, George?”

“Yeah!” His face clears. “Gemma. It’s been a while.”

“Hasn’t it,” she says. Perfect teeth, gleaming white. A good lie has grace to it. “You’ve…grown up.”

 

You could topple a queen, if you knew where to put pressure. You could tip either of them over, into night or out of day. The board could fold in, if the board was anything like the world.  

The white queen is crueler because there’s only power left over from the love. And so the black queen falls, and since it’s all just pride and more pride, to everyone who watches—

Nobody notices.

 

_Up._

_Up._

She dances best when she’s sky-high. It makes her feel weightless, boundless, and unafraid. She’s tired of being afraid.

Open arms—up, up. Sound and light mingle in sparks and static; it’s all merciful chaos. Merciful, as she never is.

Touch the sky, eyes blown out, so nothing feels like gravity anymore. She could tear anything apart, _just open your arms—_

Let the power in.

 

(This is what a game of chess looks like when you live it.)

 

Every day, the white queen raises a mask.

But they gave the crown to another.


End file.
